Alphabet Soup
by TJ-TeeJay
Summary: 26 Adam-centric stories in alphabet soup style. Mini summaries will be provided with each story, i.e. each chapter.
1. A is for Amused

**Alphabet Soup  
**_**- a collection of 26 Joan of Arcadia stories –**_

_**Author's Note:  
**__This is something I've been wanting to do for a while, namely to finish an alphabet soup challenge in the Joan of Arcadia fandom. So here are the 26 stories I've come up with. Seeing how I'm a huge Adam Rove fan (and Adam/Joan shipper), all of these stories feature Adam, and most of them also the Adam/Joan 'ship._

_You may notice that some stories play in the "Butterflies" universe, which is a work-in-progress story that my friend Deb and I have created together that can also be found here on FFN. I'm not sure if the stories playing in the Butterflies Joaniverse will make sense to you if you haven't read it._

_I am planning to post one new story (chapter) per day over the next 26 days, but please don't get mad if I miss a day or two. I think we all know real life can get in the way sometimes._

_Last but not least, thanks to Deb and Carol for the beta-read!_

--__..--"""--..__..—"""--..__--

**A is for Amused**

**--------------------------------------------**

_**Characters:** Adam Rove and Joan Girardi  
**Rating:** PG  
**Genre:** Het  
**Summary:** Adam and Joan have dinner  
**Character Age:** approximately 25  
**Joaniverse:** undefined, could be Butterflies_

**--------------------------------------------**

"What are you smiling at?" Joan looked at Adam across the table.

"You."

"And what is it that you find amusing about me?"

"You did that thing you always do."

"What thing?"

"That _thing_. You know, with your finger and your hair."

"My hair? What do you mean?"

"When you're lost in thought, you play with the tips of your hair," he said with a smile.

"Really?"

He nodded.

"Does that annoy you?"

"No. I actually find it endearing."

"Endearing? You talk about me as if I was your grandmother," she said, sounding almost annoyed.

He sat up a little straighter. "Jane. I love you. Even when you do the hair thing. Especially when you do the hair thing."

His warm eyes beamed at her as he said it, and she couldn't help but smile back at him a little mischievously. "Have I told you that I love it when you rub your eyebrow when you're nervous?"

"No, you—" He stopped in mid-sentence. "My eyebrow? Really?"

She laughed out loud. "Yeah, your eyebrow."

"And do you find that annoying?" he countered mockingly.

"No, I actually find it endearing."

"Is this the part where you're supposed to tell me you love me? Even when I do the eyebrows thing?"


	2. B is for Bitter

**B is for Bitter**

**--------------------------------------------  
**

_**Characters:** Joan Girardi and Grace Polk  
**Rating:** PG  
**Genre:** Gen  
**Summary:** Joan and Grace talk about Adam in the school hallway, takes place a couple of weeks after "Trial and Error"  
**Character Age:** 17  
**Joaniverse:** TV show_

**--------------------------------------------**

"Rove is sick," Grace stated matter-of-factly as she slammed her locker door shut.

Joan didn't even give it a moment's thought. "Really? I hope he rots in hell."

"Come on, he—"

"He what? What he did is unforgivable. Whatever plague he caught, he deserves it."

Grace backed away, raising her arms defensively. "Okay. I get it. You wanna hate him. You wanna be bitter."

"Bitter?" Joan snorted a short laugh. "I'm not bitter. I'm just telling the truth." She looked at Grace for a long moment. "You're actually feeling sympathy for him."

Grace scrunched up her face. "You should know that I don't do sympathy."

"Fine. Whatever." Joan started to walk away, then thought the better of it and turned around. "If you're asking my permission or my blessing to go and help him out, I won't stop you."

"Girardi, I told you, I don't do—"

A smile spread across Joan's face. "Don't worry, Grace. Your secret's safe with me."


	3. C is for Curious

**C is for Curious**

**--------------------------------------------**

_**Characters:** Adam Rove and Grace Polk__**  
Rating:** PG**  
Genre:** Gen  
**Summary:** Adam needs help__**  
Character Age:** 11  
**Joaniverse:** pre-TV show_

**--------------------------------------------**

"Grace, I need your help!"

His plea on the phone had sounded panicked, and he wouldn't say what was wrong, so Grace had rushed to his place. When he opened the door for her, he led her wordlessly to the kitchen.

"I'm in deep trouble," 11-year-old Adam said, pointing to the mess on the kitchen table. On it lay what once was a VCR, or at least that's what Grace guessed. Right now it wasn't more than a collection of spare parts and screws.

"Is that your dad's VCR?"

"Yeah. Or at least it used to be."

"And what is it you need my help with?" she asked, puzzled for a moment.

"I can't figure out how to put it back together," he admitted meekly.

"Ooookay," she said slowly. "And why did you take it apart in the first place?"

"It was making this snarling noise all the time and I thought... you know, maybe there's something stuck inside. I started taking it apart and then I got curious."

"A little _too_ curious," she added.

"Can you help me put it back together?"

She gave him a you're-kidding look. "Do I look like an electronics repairman?"

"Shit." His hand went to his face, rubbing it. "Grace, what do I do?"

"Pray that your parents won't ground you for more than two days?"


	4. D is for Disappointed

**D is for Disappointed**

**--------------------------------------------**

_**Characters:**__ Adam Rove and Layla Harrison  
__**Rating:**__ PG  
**Genre:**__ Het  
__**Summary:**__ Adam is disappointed that his painting wasn't accepted into a high profile exhibition  
__**Character Age:**__ 20  
**Joaniverse:**__ Butterflies  
**Author's Note:**__ Thanks to Anne for the prompt idea and thanks to Deb for giving Layla a last name_

**--------------------------------------------**

The building was positively intimidating, to say the least. The backyard was a perfectly arranged stone garden, illuminated by yellow lights that shone into the spacious room through the huge windows. The interior was a finely tuned composition of light brown woods and black and white straight lines. Patches of grassy green carpeting gave it an eerie natural feel, almost like when you left through the main door, you would walk into a luscious, green clearing instead of the busy streets of Providence.

Adam once more realized how out of place he felt in this room. The Grand Hall hosted one of the most high-profile art exhibitions in the area, and once a year they accepted entry submissions from RISD students. This year, he had felt ready to apply.

He stopped in front of the next painting, mounted on the wall with a tag next to it that looked like it was etched into glass. Classy, like the whole exhibition, the whole building.

'So this is it,' he thought to himself. Each student could submit only one piece of artwork, and they had to pick one of the themes that were listed. Adam had gone for the one called "Texture". That's what it read on the glass tag he was looking at.

Taking in the five by seven foot painting, he could now see why his own painting had been rejected. He couldn't deny the small pang of disappointment he felt in his stomach, but it vanished quickly when he let his eyes wander over the canvas on the wall.

It wasn't just a painting, the oil paint had been applied so thickly in so many layers, that it lifted off the canvas in peaks and ridges. Light brown and gray pebbles had been used to accentuate the effect. Specks of green lit up the dominant beiges and Adam took a few steps back to survey the painting from a distance.

It was then that the single components coalesced and assembled into a whole. It was a sand dune, flecked with pointy marram grass. The artist had used thin, pointed, green paper strips to bring out the grass texture. This was amazing!

He took another step back and—

"Whoa, careful."

He turned around and looked into the face of a young woman around his own age. What struck him most wasn't her light blue eyes but her less than shoulder length hair that stuck out at all angles. It looked cute on her, as did the plain, maroon dress she was wearing that matched her hair color almost exactly.

"I'm sorry," Adam muttered.

She gave him an amused smile. "You were all awed by the painting. I admire a man who can get lost in a painting."

He felt himself blushing. Was she flirting with him? "Yeah, I... I really like it. It's so... powerful."

She looked down, then up at him again and her smile turned warm and honest. "Well, thank you."

He had to try hard not to gape. "Whoa. You made it?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I'm amazed it got in. The competition must have been fierce."

"Oh yeah, they already call it an accomplishment if you make the short-list for a theme."

She pointed a finger at him. "Let me guess, Rizde student."

He laughed. "Busted!"

"Did you submit as well?"

"Yeah."

"What theme?"

He cautiously raised his eyebrows. "Texture."

She looked truly apologetic. "Oh no, I didn't mean to put salt in the wound. I'm really sorry."

He gave her a smile. "Don't be. Your painting is so much more awesome than mine. I'm glad they chose it, it deserves to be seen, here, in this place."

Now it was her turn to blush. "Thank you, that's... I don't know what to say."

Their eyes met and for a second the air between them got a little uncomfortable. She quickly interrupted the awkward moment. "So, what's your name?"

"Adam. Yours?"

"Layla."

"Nice to meet you, Layla."

The smile found its way back to her lips at the strangely formal stock phrase. "Have you seen the rest of the exhibition?"

"I haven't been to the first floor yet."

"Hey, me neither," she said. "Mind if I join you?"

Adam felt a little taken by surprise, but then thought, why not? "No, actually I don't."

"Cool." She linked her arm with his and energetically bounced toward the stairs.

'Whoa!' he thought. Talk about initiative. He couldn't even remember the last time he had flirted with anybody. But maybe that was just what he needed tonight, to be swept away by a sweet and lovely woman.

He didn't know where it came from, but the chorus of an Eric Clapton song suddenly swirled around in his head.

_Layla, darling, won't you ease my worried mind..._


	5. E is for Ecstatic

**E is for Ecstatic**

**--------------------------------------------**

_**Characters:** Adam Rove and Joan Girardi  
**Rating:** PG  
**Genre:** Het  
**Summary:** Joan receives an acceptance letter from college and goes to tell Adam  
**Character Age:** 17 or 18  
**Joaniverse:** post-TV show_

**--------------------------------------------**

"Adam! Adam!" Joan called out, approaching his shed.

The shed door opened very quickly and the alarm on his face quickly changed to relief when he saw she was smiling and waving a letter in her hand.

"Adam," she said breathlessly. "I got in!"

"Really? Wow! Congratulations."

She still had a big smile on her face as she approached him. "Yeah, the letter came this morning."

"So, Rhode Island? Really?"

Her face fell. "No. Marquette."

"Marquette? Isn't that..."

"... in Michigan, yeah."

"I thought you applied for Rhode Island University," he said, the disappointment readable on his face.

"I did. The rejection letter came yesterday. I meant to tell you, but then things got kinda crazy, and— But, look, Marquette has a great Physical Therapy program. I can get a Doctor of Physical Therapy Degree if I want to." She looked at him. "Aren't you happy for me?"

"I am." He tried to sound upbeat, but she could hear that it wasn't real. "It's great. It _sounds_ great."

"But you wanted me to be in Rhode Island with you," she said out loud what he was merely thinking.

"Would that be so bad?"

"No. No, I would have liked that, but, you know... we can still see each other."

"Yeah, twice a year."

"Come on, Adam. Don't spoil this for me."

He was silent for a moment, then he lowered his head and, in a low voice, said, "I'm gonna miss you."

For a moment she wasn't sure how to react. She didn't think he still felt that way, he certainly hadn't made any kind of advances on her in recent months. She thought they were friends. Just friends. That was it.

"Adam, I..." she stammered. "You're gonna be all busy at RISD. We both would have been wrapped up in our studies, in our new lives. Do you really think it could have worked out?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I kept hoping..."

"... hoping what? That we'd get back together?"

He shrugged again, wordlessly this time.

She let her hands sink to her sides, the letter still in one of them. "You do realize that your timing to bring this up is incredibly out of whack, don't you?"

"What?" he asked, suddenly confused.

"We're both off to college after the summer. How would this work?"

"It wouldn't, I guess," he said quietly.

"Yeah," she answered, then fell quiet.

The silence that hung in the air became uncomfortable. After about a minute, Adam lifted his head and looked at her. "So... let's celebrate," he said with a small smile on his lips. It broke the ice.

She smiled back at him. "Let's celebrate."


	6. F is for Frustrated

**F is for Frustrated**

**--------------------------------------------**

_**Characters:** Adam Rove & Joan Girardi  
**Rating:** PG  
**Genre:** Het  
**Summary:** Carl Rove? Who would have thought?  
**Character Age:** 21  
**Joaniverse:** Post-TV show  
**Author's Note:** I've written a few stories for this challenge that are kinda wacky. I think this one is one of them._

**--------------------------------------------**

"Adam?"

His head shot up and the first thing Joan thought was how forlorn and out of place he looked, sitting on the bleak plastic chair in the Arcadia police station.

"Jane? What are you doing here?"

"What do you think? My dad called me."

He let his head sink into his hands. "Jesus, what a mess."

She sat down on the chair next to him. "Tell me what happened."

He looked up again at her. "I wish I knew. My dad got arrested. They said he stole some money."

"Stole? From who?"

"I don't know, they wouldn't tell me, said I had to wait for the arresting officer and some paperwork or something. I mean, stealing!? My dad? Why would he steal money? It's so unreal, right?" He lifted his hands in frustration.

Joan covered one of his hands with her own to calm him down. "Relax, Adam, we're gonna figure this out. Maybe it's all a huge mistake."

He let out a quick breath that almost sounded like a laugh. "You know what the worst thing is? I can almost believe it. I mean, it even makes a certain kind of sense. The mortgage, the medical bills, my tuition." He rubbed his forehead. "What does that say about me, the fact that I believe my father is guilty of stealing?"

"Adam," she tried to focus his attention on her again. "Look at me. This is no time to jump to conclusions. You need to hear his side first, don't you think? Hear the whole story. I'm gonna go get my dad, they're gonna have to let you see your dad."

He just nodded feebly. When she lightly touched his shoulder before she hurried off, a wave of sudden relief washed over him. Jane would put things right—the way she always did.

He didn't have a lot of time to dwell on that thought. Joan came back with her father and a female officer in uniform in tow.

"You're Adam Rove?" the officer asked.

"Yes."

"Let's go to my desk, we have some things to discuss."

Adam groaned. It was going to be a long night.


	7. G is for Grateful

**G is for Grateful **

**--------------------------------------------**

_**Characters:** Adam Rove and Joan Girardi  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Genre:** Het  
**Summary:** To quote R.E.M.: It's been a bad day, please don't take a picture.  
**Character Age:** late 20's  
**Joaniverse:** Post-TV show. Some settings taken from the Butterflies Joaniverse, but I see it more like an alternate universe to it._

**--------------------------------------------**

Her long, brown hair hung around her slumped shoulders like a curtain, obscuring her face from his line of sight. He didn't know if she was just sitting there, contemplating, or if she had been quietly waiting for him. Quiet and strained anticipation crackled in the air.

Adam put his keys on the chest of drawers by the door and took off his jacket. He felt the little strength he still had leaving him.

It had been a tough day from the start, tougher than any day he could remember for a long time. One set of bad news was chasing the next, and then Joan had called during lunch and things had gotten from bad to worse. They never fought, and it had scared him that they had yelled at each other to the extent that his colleagues had given him strange looks afterwards. No one had dared ask, though.

Her glance at him was reserved, careful. He sat down at the far end of the couch, his arm on the backrest, well within reach of her—if she wanted to reach out.

He gave her a long look, then spoke with a composed voice. "When I was ten years old, my mother first tried to kill herself. Dad was at work and I found her in the kitchen. She took an overdose of diazepam."

Joan turned her head to look at him and her eyes grew wider.

Adam continued, "I didn't know what to do, so I called Dad and he told me to run next door and get help. He must have called 911 because he arrived just before the ambulance did."

He paused and studied a crumb on the couch pillow next to him. "A few weeks ago, Henry accepted a bid from SAVE, a suicide prevention organization. I've been working on their video clip ad all day, and going over this scene where a young girl swallows pills, it just... It brought back all the bad memories. And then Christine had to leave the office because they thought her mom had a stroke this morning, and then you called and I just..."

He whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I yelled at you."

He lifted his head and met her eyes. The expression in them was soft now, sympathetic.

"It's okay," she whispered back. She stretched out her bent arm so that her fingers lightly touched his. In a soft voice she continued, "Sometimes I forget, you know?

He didn't ask aloud, but she could read the question in his eyes.

"I forget all the difficulty in your past, all the challenges, and the tragedies. I forget what you've been through.

"You know, looking back, I had a near perfect childhood, at least until Kevin's accident, and at times like this I can't help thinking how I can never be grateful enough for that. And I guess I've never known or really realized that it can be a lot different for other people."

She paused and waited. Sometimes he just needed time—time to digest his emotions, his thoughts, his response. When the silence stretched out for too long, she knew he was on the brink of folding in on himself.

She broke the silence. "Just wait here a second."

She left the room and came back a minute later with a picture frame in her hands. "Here. Remember that it wasn't all bad."

She sat down close to him and he took the frame from her that she held out to him. It was the picture of him with his parents that they had framed a while ago to put in the room they were currently using as their study but that could well become a nursery when the time was right. In the photo, little Adam was holding a giant inflatable pickle with a big smile on his face. Carl and Elizabeth were hugging him from either side, both of them laughing.

He studied the image behind the glass cover with a bittersweet smile. "Yeah, it helps to remember that."

He was silent for another long minute, but then he looked at Joan. "You once told me that I shouldn't let all this tragedy define who I am. And I'm trying, but some days are just harder than others."

She took his hand and let her thumb softly stroke his palm. "Sweetie, I know that. What can I do to make a bad day get better?"

The corners of his mouth twitched upward but didn't quite want to form a smile.

Joan got up from her seat and went to the stereo. She quickly scanned the CD rack next to it and found what she was looking for after a few seconds. The music started playing when she hit the Play button and she stood in front of Adam, holding out her hands.

"Dance with me."

"Jane," he said, unwilling.

"Dance with me," she repeated. "Please."

He looked at her and the sparkle in her eyes made him take her hands. She dragged him up and he adjusted his position so that they fell into a proper dancing stance.

By the time that the song ended, he had a full smile on his face and had come to the realization that he was holding the love of his life in his arms. Maybe he hadn't had the best childhood, but there was one thing he now knew: He was going to make up for it in every imaginable way.


	8. H is for Hurt

**H is for Hurt**

**--------------------------------------------**

_**Characters:** Adam Rove, Grace Polk, Karen D'Alessandro  
**Rating:** borderline R for language  
**Genre:** Het  
**Summary:** Adam didn't duck fast enough and now he has to pay the price  
**Character Age:** 27  
**Joaniverse:** Butterflies_

**--------------------------------------------**

"Ow! Dammit, that hurts!" Adam exclaimed frustrated.

Grace stopped dabbing the small cut above his eye with the cloth that was soaked with disinfectant. "Geez, Rove, you're such a wuss. I can't do this if you whine before I even touch you."

She handed the cloth to Karen. "Here, you do this."

Karen smiled an amused smile and accepted the cloth, exchanging places with Grace to tend to Adam's injury. She stared at him with a the best mockingly menacing expression she could muster. "Don't be a wuss."

"I'm trying!"

After a few more dabs and Adam's silent flinching, she sat back and examined her handiwork. "It stopped bleeding. I don't think you need stitches." She removed the paper covers from the butterfly bandage and placed one over the cut. "There isn't much I can do about the split lip. We have some ice in the freezer."

Grace was watching them intently, strangely fascinated. "Tell me again how this happened. I can't believe Girardi would throw inanimate objects at you."

"She's not called Girardi anymore, Grace."

"I don't care. She'll always be Girardi to me. Don't change the subject."

He sighed. "Yes, she threw a shoe at me, one of those, you know pointy, high-heeled things."

"Jesus, she threw one of her fuck-me pumps at you?"

"Fu—what?!?" His brow knotted up in confusion, and it hurt. "Ow!"

"She could've put your eye out. What the hell did you do?"

"Grace, you're supposed to be on _my_ side here!"

"All right, all right," she conceded. "Why didn't you at least _duck_?"

"Because I wasn't expecting her to actually throw the damn thing."

Grace studied Adam's face that was starting to swell slightly in the injured places. "And it hit both your temple and your lip? Did it bounce, or something?"

"No."

"Then explain to me how that happened."

Adam started to get impatient. "What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?"

"Rove, after just tending to your almost mortal injuries, I think you at least owe us an explanation."

"She threw the other shoe too, okay?!"

Grace tried not to laugh but didn't quite succeed. "Seriously? And it didn't occur to you to duck the _second_ time either? I mean, why??"

"Because I didn't think she— Look, it doesn't matter, okay? It happened. I'll live."

"Yeah, with a fat lip and disfigured face."

Karen interjected. "Aw, come on now, Grace. Enough with the hyperbole."

Grace threw up her hands. "Sorry. I'm just trying to decide what's more mind-boggling, the fact that Girardi actually hit you in the face or the fact that you were too stupid to take evasive action."

"She didn't hit me in the face, Grace."

"Don't split hairs over technicalities. So what are you going to do now?"

He shrugged. "She'll calm down. I'll apologize. Seeing my fat lip and disfigured face, she's gonna be sorry in an instant."

"My goodness, I can't believe you're being so calm about this. Rove, she threw a stiletto at you! Two stilettos! That's aggravated assault. It's reason for divorce."

"Come on, you're blowing this out of proportion, Grace. It wasn't anything like that. We just had an argument. It got heated. Joan's temper flared. You know how impulsive she can get sometimes when she's obsessed with something. Like you said, I was just too stupid to duck. It was an accident. Well, kind of."

Grace's expression calmed slightly. "Sometimes I don't understand you."

She looked at Karen, who was listening to their conversation. Grace asked her, "Don't you have anything to say about this?"

"What can I say? I wasn't there. If Adam says it was just an accident, then what is there to say?"

Grace shook her head. "You two are unbelievable."

She got up from her chair to go to the kitchen and a minute later she handed Adam a plastic bag filled with ice. "Here, use this before you turn into Quasimodo. And tell Girardi if she hurts you again, I will personally hunt her down and make sure she pays for it."

Adam couldn't help but grin, even though he knew it wasn't just an empty threat.


	9. I is for Irritated

**I is for Irritated**

**--------------------------------------------**

_**Characters:** Adam Rove and Joan Girardi  
**Rating:** PG-13 (with one f-bomb)  
**Genre:** Het  
**Summary:** Adam has a cold  
**Character Age:** approximately 25  
**Joaniverse:** Could be Butterflies_

**--------------------------------------------**

"Pshooo!" A violent sneeze erupted from Adam's nose. He picked up a used tissue and blew his irritated nose. "Fuck! I had forgotten just much having a cold sucks."

Sitting on the couch next to him, Joan had to suppress a smile because he sounded kinda cute with the nasal voice. But then she reminded herself that it wasn't funny. Her husband was suffering. Though reports of his death had been greatly exaggerated.

Disgusted, he threw the wet tissue on the floor and scrunched up his face in expectation of another projectile sneeze. Joan quickly held the Kleenex box in his direction, waiting for the sneezing attack to pass. He quickly grabbed a fresh tissue and sneezed into it.

"Please, give me some tranquilizer and put a catheter in my nose until this passes. I don't know how much more of this I can take," he pleaded.

"Have you tried the nasal spray?"

"Yeah. Didn't help. At least not past the first five minutes."

"We need something to calm down that irritation in your respiratory tract."

"Maybe putting a tampon in my nose will help," he joked half-heartedly.

"Ew. No." She was quiet for a moment, then, "Wait, I have an idea."

She got up and rummaged around in the kitchen while Adam just lay his head back on the headrest and closed his eyes, wishing he was a wisp of smoke or something else not quite so corporeal.

He woke from his reverie when she called his name. "Adam, honey, come in here."

"Do I have to?" he groaned.

"If you want some relief, yes."

"Okay," he grumbled and glumly got up.

"Sit down." Joan showed him to the kitchen table where a plastic bowl stood that was filled with hot, steaming water and something floating on it that looked like dried chamomile blossoms. A towel lay next to it.

"What's this?"

"Something my mom used to make for us when we were kids."

"I don't have to drink it, do I?"

She laughed. "No. It's a vapor-bath. You put the towel over the bowl and peek your head in. And then you breathe."

He still looked skeptical. "Okay," he said hesitantly.

"Come on, try it."

She helped him put the towel in place and watched him do as she had said. After a few breaths his head came out again, his cheeks flushed.

"It's really hot."

"Yeah, but it's supposed to be. Come on, keep doing it for a few minutes. It'll help."

"If you say so."

"Come on, you have to admit that it feels kinda good, don't you?"

She saw his head nod under the towel and a small smile crept into her features. He was getting there. She softly touched his back and rubbed it a little. "Keep going. I'll be upstairs if you need me."

His head came out again. "I will. Later. For the tranquilizers and the tampons."


	10. J is for Jealous

**J is for Jealous**

**--------------------------------------------**

_**Characters:** Adam Rove and Joan Girardi  
**Rating: **borderline R for language  
**Genre:** Het  
**Summary:** Joan finds Adam in the hospital waiting room  
**Character Age:** 22  
**Joaniverse:** post-TV show, see also "E is for Ecstatic"_

**--------------------------------------------**

"Adam."

Her voice was soft and low and comforting, yet worried at the same time.

It barely registered with him. Only when Joan repeated his name, he realized who was sitting next to him on the uninviting plastic chairs in the ICU's waiting area.

He lifted his head, but he was so tired, so worn out.

"Jane," he whispered, and the mere sight of her was like a comforting blanket. He hadn't seen her for almost two years. They hadn't separated with bad blood between them, but a 1000-mile distance just had that effect on committed college students.

"I heard about your dad. How is he?"

"Not good," he rasped, tears burning behind his eyelids. "They had to resuscitate him this afternoon."

Just as she wanted to reach out with her hand, he got up from his chair, walking away a few steps.

She watched him go over to the window, unsure whether to follow or not. Somehow this was both so strange and yet so familiar. All she really wanted was to ease his pain, but there was this invisible wall between them, and the sterile, white hospital atmosphere didn't make it any easier.

She waited another few, silent seconds, then walked over to stand next to him—far enough not to intrude, close enough to reach out to. "What can I do?" she asked in a low voice.

He looked at her with eyes that spoke of weariness and exhaustion, not saying anything. Then he shrugged. "There's nothing anyone can do. Except maybe pray. You know, if there even _is_ a God."

"There is," she said firmly.

"Oh yeah?" he raised his voice. "He must be some twisted son of a bitch. My dad didn't deserve this!"

"It's not about deserving things. I don't think that's how it works."

"Then how _does_ it work?" His voice became angrier, more forceful. "If he's not being punished for something he fucked up in his life, then why? Or is this punishment for me? For all the times I've fucked up?"

"No, Adam. Why would you say that? It's just... I know it sounds really lame and empty, but that's just how things work. Maybe it's His way of keeping the natural balance of the universe."

"Yeah," he said sarcastically. "Thanks for the spiritual lecture."

She drew in a breath. The last thing she had expected to happen when she had driven to the hospital was to end up fighting with Adam about God. "I don't have any answers," she told him. "But I know that things happen for a reason—good and bad alike."

She waited for a reaction from him, but he just kept staring blankly about the window. She lightly touched his arm. "I can leave if you'd rather be alone."

When she was about to turn around to walk away, she felt his hand on her own. "No, please don't go." She met his gaze. "I'm sorry I snapped at you. This is just all so unfair."

"Adam, there is no need to apologize. You're trying to make sense of something that no one can make sense of. I really _really_ wish I could say something that would make it easier."

He let go of her hand. "I'm really glad you're here."

She gave him a brave smile. "Are you staying at your dad's house?"

"Yeah," he nodded.

"Why don't you come stay with us for a little while. Mom said you shouldn't be alone, and I agree with her."

His face relaxed a little, formed into a sad smile. "I'm not alone. Lynn is here with me."

She was suddenly taken aback. What? Who? Was she...? Why hadn't Grace said anything? She quickly tried to look neutral and hoped he hadn't noticed her brief moment of surprise. She tried to sound matter-of-fact when she asked, "Lynn?"

"Yeah. We met this spring. At college."

Joan wanted to yell, 'And why is she not here when you need her the most?!' but she quickly composed herself. "I see."

"You're jealous." It wasn't a question.

"No," she quickly denied. "No. Why would I be?"

"I don't know. You and me, we have a lot of baggage." Through the window he watched a mother with a stroller in the park outside, then added, "Maybe you haven't unpacked yet."

It was a beautiful metaphor, and maybe not so far from the truth. She had dated a few guys from college, but none of them had managed to touch her heart. Was that the reason why she hadn't let any of them in?

"Would you like to meet her?"

The question surprised her. Her initial reaction was to say no. She wanted to hate Lynn. She didn't want to get to know her. She hesitated. "I don't know."

It was almost like he could read her mind. "Don't judge her before you know her. The reason she's not here is because I asked her to stay at home. I wanted to be alone here today." When she didn't say anything, he continued, "Look, Jane, she's a good person."

"Do you love her?"

There was an awkward silence before he answered, "Yes. Yes, I do. It's the first time I've been able to love someone since..."

She knew what he meant. And maybe it was time she let go of him. She turned to face him. "I should go."

"You don't have to."

"Yes, I do." It wasn't bitter or harsh. They both knew she was trying to make a clean break.

He turned to face her and gave her a hug. "Thanks for coming by," he said in her ear. "It really means a lot."

She drew him just a little closer. "I hope your dad makes it. He's a fighter."

He broke their embrace and said, "He has to."

She squeezed his upper arm just a little before she let go. "I'll pray for some good ripples. Both for you and your dad."

He watched her leave through the connecting door and knew that things would take a turn for the better from here on. She had prayed for good ripples before, and it had saved a life then. It would save a life now too.


	11. K is for Kind

**K is for Kind**

**--------------------------------------------**

_**Characters:** Adam Rove and Joan Girardi__**  
Rating:** PG-13  
**Genre:** Het  
**Summary:** Joan caught whatever Adam had, and she inadvertently wakes him in the night__**  
Character Age:** approximately 25  
**Joaniverse:** Could be Butterflies, see also "I is for Irritated"_

**--------------------------------------------**

The sound that woke Adam was not a pleasant one. He groggily opened his eyes to listen to Joan coughing next to him, the muscle spasms in her chest making their bed shake a little. He was mad at her waking him for only a split second before his brain functionality kicked in.

"Jane," he whispered.

When she caught her breath, she whispered back, "Shit, I woke you. Again."

"It's okay."

"No, it's _not_ okay. I'm sick of this. I just wanna stop coughing, but I can't. I think I need to see the doctor after all." Her last words melted into another coughing fit.

He got out of bed and went downstairs. She wasn't quick enough to protest.

He came back five minutes later with a steaming mug in his hand, which he put on her bedside table.

"Here, drink this. It'll soothe your throat."

It was the herbal tea she had bought at the drugstore just two days before, the one that was supposed to help with a cough.

As she carefully sipped at the tea, he went into the bathroom and came back to crouch down next to her. In his palm she saw two tablets. "These are supposed to help too."

She just nodded, having moved into a sitting position. Her glance fell on the clock on her nightstand. "Shit," she muttered, "Honey, it's 3:30 AM. This shouldn't be happening. We should both be fast asleep."

He placed something on his own nightstand before he went back to lie down next to her. "Don't worry about it," he said in a low voice. "It's not your fault."

Half-jokingly, she said, "No, but it's yours. Kinda."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you gave this to me, didn't you—whatever bug it was that you brought home last week."

He smiled an apologetic smile. "Guilty as charged." He leaned over to give her a soothing kiss on the lips. "I'm sorry."

She sighed and reached for the mug on her nightstand again. Taking another sip of tea, she told him, "You should go back to sleep, I'll be okay now."

He looked at her, then said to her, "Lie on your belly."

"What? Why?"

"Just do it."

"Okay," she relented, following his instruction.

He carefully moved her t-shirt up so that her back was exposed. He was fumbling with something and soon the aroma of menthol wafted into her nose. She felt his hands slowly rubbing the oily ointment onto her back.

He wasn't massaging her, but she still relaxed to the touch, to his warm hands on her body. When he had spread the menthol ointment enough, he bent down to softly kiss her neck. "That should help as well."

"I smell like a medicine cabinet," she muttered.

He breathed in through his nose. "I don't mind. I kinda like it."

She felt her eyes getting droopy and reached for the pills on her nightstand. She swallowed them with some of the tea.

"Let's try to catch some more sleep," she said tiredly. She reached out to softly touch his cheek. "Good night, Honey."

"Good night, Jane," he whispered and closed his eyes.


	12. L is for Lethargic

**L is for Lethargic**

**--------------------------------------------**

_**Characters:** Adam Rove, OMC  
**Rating:** Borderline R for foul language  
**Genre:** Gen, Angst  
**Summary:** In the end everyone ends up alone. Losing her, the only one who's ever known who I am, who I'm not, who I wanna be. I found God on the corner of 1st and Amistad, all alone, smoking his last cigarette.  
**Character Age:** 33  
**Joaniverse:** post-TV show  
**Author's Note: **I must sincerely apologize for writing what I think is an out-of-character Adam. Sometimes it's fun to creep close to the edge and linger at the end of the spectrum that you can only classify as highly unlikely. Consider yourself warned. The story was inspired by the song "You Found Me" by The Fray._

**--------------------------------------------**

"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Adam swore loudly, and it made several people passing him by in the street give him funny looks. What was he going to do? What the hell was he going to do?

He rubbed his hand over his face in a frantic, desperate gesture. Think—he needed to think.

He looked up and realized he was nearing the end of the street. He had no idea how or why his feet had carried him here. He crossed the road, not caring that one of the approaching cars had to slam on the brakes and would have hit him square in the leg if the driver hadn't swerved to avoid him. Adam barely even noticed that the annoyed honking from the car was directed at him.

Think—think—think!

He kept walking across the grass until he came to the railing that separated the boardwalk from the Lake Michigan shoreline. There was barely a soul in sight, only people with a death wish would come out here in the freezing cold. Icicle-like snowflakes pricked his skin as he looked over the railing at the angry waves from the gushing wind crashing against the concrete wall below. How long did it take for a human body to freeze to death in icy waters like this?

_No, _he suddenly thought. _Not like this._

He turned around and walked a few steps to the lonesome bench a few yards from where he had stood. Wrapping his parka closer around his body, he sat down on the cold seat. Leaning forward, his head in his hands, he couldn't even blame his landlord for giving him the boot. He hadn't paid the rent for four or five months. He had ignored all the warnings that if Adam didn't come up with the money, he would put in a new lock and only let Adam in to get his stuff out of there.

Now what? His car had been impounded months ago. He didn't even have a working cell phone anymore. He literally had nowhere left to go.

How had it come to this? He tried to remember where things had gone wrong. His life had started to spiral downwards in the spring of last year. He'd lost his job, hadn't been able to find a new one. He'd been too embarrassed to tell his friends, had alienated himself from them, and in the end they had stopped trying to get in touch. The money had gradually run out, and it didn't help that his father had left him with an heirloom of debts from the mortgage and the medical bills.

Maybe he could have sought help earlier. Maybe then he wouldn't be sitting here. But the thing was, he wasn't that guy—that guy who had no home, no money, no nothing. Except... he was.

Lethargy claimed him and he closed his eyes. If he sat here long enough, would someone come and save him?

"Would you mind if I sat here?"

Adam's head shot up. He looked into the eyes of a man in his 60's. White hair peeked out from underneath a woolen hat, and despite the fact that he was only wearing a thin raincoat, he didn't appear to be cold at all.

"Uh, sure," Adam could only mumble. He squinted his eyes. Something about this guy looked uncannily familiar, but maybe he was only imagining that.

The man looked at Adam, and it felt strangely comforting. "You look lost," he said.

Adam was taken aback. Was it so obvious? "Yeah, no, I, uh..."

"There is always hope."

Adam looked at the man, studied his face. He had a slight smile on his lips, a hopeful, encouraging smile that only underlined what he'd just said.

"Who are you?" was all Adam could ask.

"A friend," he answered noncommittally. He held out a business card for Adam to take.

Adam took it, afraid to drop it because his fingers were so cold that he'd lost all feeling in them. It read Lincoln Park Community Shelter and had an address and a phone number on it. He looked at the man with questioning eyes. "How did you...?"

The white-haired man smiled a warm, heartening smile at him. "You're asking a lot of questions. The answers are all on there," he pointed to the business card, "Just call them. There will be someone there to help you. Things will look up soon."

_How would _you_ know?_ Adam thought silently, but something in the man's demeanor made him not say it out loud. "Thanks," he muttered.

The man fingered a pack of smokes from his jacket pocket and held it out to Adam who shook his head. "No, thanks, big fan of the lungs."

The old man shrugged and lit the last filter cigarette in the pack, savoring the first luxurious lungful of smoke. The tip glowed a deep, luscious orange. He got up from the bench. "I gotta be on my way."

After taking a step away from the bench, he turned around. "Oh, I almost forgot." He withdrew his hand from his pocket and gave Adam a few coins. "There's a pay phone on the corner of 1st and Amistad. Make that call."

Adam just nodded numbly. Maybe he had just been saved.

On wobbly legs, he went over to the phone booth. With numb and clumsy fingers he dialed the number on the business card.

"Lincoln Park Community Shelter, how may I help you?"

Adam's breath hitched. That voice, he knew that voice!

"Jane?" he could only whisper.

There was a short silence at the other end. "Adam?"

Tears were suddenly in his eyes, he didn't even know where they came from. A sudden urge to hang up the phone overwhelmed him.

"Adam, is that you?"

"Yeah," he croaked.

"Wow, it's been such a long time. How are you?"

Miserable. Piteous. I hit rock bottom. What would he say? "I, uhm, I..."

He couldn't fool her, even after all these years. "Adam, what's wrong?"

"Jane," he sighed, "I need your help."


	13. M is for Mischievous

**M is for Mischievous**

**--------------------------------------------**

_**Characters:** Adam and Joan Rove  
**Rating:** borderline R for language  
**Genre:** Het  
**Summary:** Joan gives Adam a make-over  
**Character Age:** approximately 30  
**Joaniverse:** Could be Butterflies  
**Author's Note:** Okay, this is wrong in so many ways, but this was inspired by a Cold Case episode that I've forgotten the title of, specifically the goatee that Danny Pino wore in that episode. One word: Rrrrrrr!_

**--------------------------------------------**

He was in the bathroom when she came into their bedroom to put some folded up clothes away. When she peeked her head around the corner, she saw him applying shaving cream to his chin and cheeks.

"Wait a minute," she interrupted him.

He looked at her expectantly. "What? You want me to keep the five day stubble? You always say you hate it because it's so scratchy."

"Well, before you get rid of it, let's do some experimenting."

"Experimenting?" He raised one eyebrow. "I'm not sure I like the sound of that."

"Relax, Sweetie. Here, let me try a new look on you."

He still looked skeptical and couldn't help but notice that she had that mischievous twinkle in her eye, but he let her take the razor from his hand and work his face with it. She insisted that he turn his back to the mirror, so he wouldn't immediately see what she was doing.

Five minutes later, she wiped the last of the shaving cream off his face and told him to take a look. His face went to his chin to touch it. "A goatee?"

She took a step back to survey her handiwork. "You know, it kinda suits you. Makes you look a bit more... bad-ass."

"Bad-ass? You can't be serious. What's next? A Mohawk?"

A smile spread over her face. "Actually..."

She reached for the hair gel in the cabinet above the sink and spread some in her palms. She formed a little Mohawk with his dark hair, even though it wasn't long enough to make much of one.

Taking another good look at him, she said, "Now, _there's_ a bad-ass motherfucker!"

He chuckled, studying the new look in the mirror. "Okay, this is weird." He turned his head this way and that way. "You really like this look?"

"Maybe this is a bit extreme, but if you wanna keep the goatee, I think I might be able to get used to it."

"I don't know. I feel like a guy with a midlife crisis. You know, like they suddenly wanna appear ten years younger, making themselves look all hip and everything."

"You mean like Daniel?"

"Okay, it's not fair, but, yeah, I mean like Daniel."

She smiled. "You're way sexier than Daniel. And not even remotely in need of having to make yourself look younger. For the longest time you looked at least five years younger than you were. I like you looking like a grown man."

He grinned back. "Does that mean you practically married a teenager? Oooh, sex with a minor. You're a felon!" He mockingly raised his voice. "Mr. Girardi, your own daughter is a criminal!"

She laughed out loud. "Shush! Shut up and come here."

He grabbed her by the hip and drew her close, rubbing the goatee's stubble in her face. "Here, take this, tough girl!"

She squirmed in his arms. "Help, help, I'm being repressed!" she quoted one of their favorite Python movies.

He had mercy and released her. Gesturing at his chin, he asked, "So, keep or shave?"

"Why don't you keep it for a day or two, scare your colleagues. And Grace."

"Ah, now there's an incentive. Grace will hate it."

"Exactly."


	14. N is for Nostalgic

**N is for Nostalgic**

**--------------------------------------------**

_**Characters:** Adam Rove and Joan Girardi  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Genre:** Het  
**Summary:** It's been a long time since they've seen each other. And then Joan and Adam run into each other unexpectedly when both are back in Arcadia to visit their families.  
**Character Age:** 34  
**Joaniverse:** post-TV show  
**Author's Note: **I apologize for the cliché nature of the situation, but there has to be a reason why it's being used in the movies and on TV all the time, even though I imagine it not happening all that often in real life. This was inspired by a scene from 'Private Practice' episode 2x20. Also, apologies for writing Adam (possibly more than) a little out-of-character._

**--------------------------------------------**

It had been so surreal. Adam couldn't stop thinking of her. Jane. Was she even Jane anymore? He tried to remember how many years they hadn't seen each other before today, and he figured it must be at least six. The 10 year High School reunion, was that it?

That night, the gym was filled with familiar faces and he had tried all night to take her aside to catch up, but he had been side-tracked too many times by people coming up to him. Reliving the old days had dominated the evening, and by the time he finally had a moment to look for her, she was already gone—some kind of emergency. He hadn't exchanged more than a few sentences with her. Why had he never made that phone call afterwards to catch up on what they didn't have time for that night?

And now, back here in Arcadia, what were the odds that they'd both be back home at the same time? That they'd run into each other randomly at the grocery store? Was there such a thing as fate? It had been a pleasant surprise, and the forty minutes they'd spent chatting over coffee in the coffee shop across the parking lot had been intense and laden with crackling energy and innuendo.

Her face was etched into his mind. He only realized now that it had been nagging at him all day. He had to know.

He got up from the kitchen chair and put on his shoes.

"Where are you going, sweetie?" His wife suddenly stood in the doorway, eyeing him.

He said the first thing that came to his mind. "I forgot to buy eggs." He wasn't even lying. After meeting Joan, he had thrown the shopping list to the wind.

She frowned at him. "It's 9:30 at night. Do you really need to go out again?"

"Yeah. I want to make omelets tomorrow morning."

The frown didn't vanish from her face, but she relented. "Okay," she said skeptically.

He wished Kevin still lived where he had lived all those years ago. Adam had only been there once. Joan had mentioned she was staying at his house while Kevin and his wife were out of town.

The windshield wipers made a squeaking noise every time he used them until the rain picked up in intensity. By the time he arrived, it was coming down in steady strings. Even in the dark, he recognized the house as he passed it. There was a light on, which he took as a good sign. Parking spaces in this area were hard to come by, so he had to park a block away. He realized he should have taken a jacket, but it was too late now.

His shoulders and hair were wet by the time he reached Kevin's front porch. He hesitated for half a minute before he rapped on the wooden doorframe. His breath hitched when he saw movement behind the door through the window. He could feel butterflies fluttering in his stomach when he saw Joan's face peeking through the window pane as she draped the beige curtain aside. He had to suppress the urge to turn on his heels and run, but before he could act on it, the door opened.

"Adam?"

Her gaze went from his face to this wet hair and t-shirt. They looked into each other's eyes for a long moment. He felt something electrifying the air between them, and he said, "I don't know... why I'm here. I... I just had to know."

He noticed she was only wearing a loose-fitting light pink men's shirt and he stepped closer, slowly closed the gap between them. The frown on her face only vanished when his lips softly touched hers. He couldn't help but deepen the kiss, and he felt her responding, hesitantly.

Her hands eventually found his neck, then went into his damp hair and caressed it. Her fingers were all over him, his neck, his face, his wet t-shirt. All rational thought was obliterated, and the passion was undeniable—for both of them.

She suddenly drew back, gently pushed him away with her hand on his chest, gasping for air. "Adam. No. You're married," she finally stammered.

"Yeah," he whispered. "But seeing you again, I suddenly realized..." He broke off.

"What? That you don't love your wife anymore?"

"No. I don't know." He sighed. "This is all so confusing."

"Does she know that you're here?"

He didn't even have to respond, Joan answered her own question. "Of course she doesn't know. Stupid question."

He grinned sheepishly and a little ruefully. "I told her I needed to buy eggs."

"Oh, _that's _original."

He shrugged and there was an awkward silence between them before Joan quietly said. "I think you need to leave."

He hesitated. "What if I don't want to."

Her face grew stern. "Adam, think about this. You can't just waltz in here like this. You have a wife waiting for you, and technically, you're cheating on her this very minute."

He sighed and then chuckled. "You do realize how ironic this is, right?"

"What? You cheating? With me?"

He nodded and she smiled a sad, nostalgic smile at him. "You know, high school seems like a lifetime ago."

"Yeah. Don't you wish we could go back and do things over, though?"

She thought about that for a moment and then shook her head. "Not really. I think things happen for a reason. I'm sure they happened that way for a reason back then."

"So this is happening for a reason too?"

"Yes, but maybe not the one you're thinking of."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

She could only shrug. "I don't know. I need to think about this. And so do you."

She softly, tenderly made him a step away from her and away from the door. "Goodbye, Adam."

The door fell quietly into its lock behind her before he could think of anything to say.


	15. O is for Optimistic

**O is for Optimistic**

**--------------------------------------------**

_**Characters:** Adam and Joan Girardi__**  
Rating:** PG-13  
**Genre:** Het__**  
Summary:** Upon receiving bad news about his aunt, Adam and Joan fly out to see Lousia and her family  
**Character Age:** 31  
**Joaniverse:** Butterflies_

**--------------------------------------------**

The heart monitor was emitting a steady beeping noise and the rhythmic, repetitive sound of the ventilator almost had a reassuring quality to it. Still, it scared Adam to see his aunt lying helplessly in her ICU bed, her life entirely dependent on the machines surrounding her.

Despair suddenly flooded him. What if she didn't make it? What would that do to her family? He wasn't very close with his uncle, but Jamie and Susan and the kids? He had lost two parents, he knew the kind of void a tragedy like that left in one's life.

An unexpected beep that was new woke Adam from his reverie. His head shot up, but all the monitors looked normal. Or as normal as he could discern. He breathed a sigh of relief when the beep didn't repeat after half a minute of tense waiting.

His gaze went to Louisa's face, pale and expressionless. He leaned forward and put his hands on her left arm. How he wished he could only transfer some of his energy into her.

He didn't know how long he had sat like that, just hoping for a turn for the better, when he heard soft footsteps approaching from behind. Joan's hands gently touched both his shoulders and he felt his strength ebbing.

He leaned back and let his head rest on the backrest of the chair. His eyes closed for a few seconds and when he opened them again, he was looking at his wife, standing behind him.

"Any change?" she asked.

"No," he sighed.

She started playing with the hair above his forehead and neither of them said anything for a few moments.

"What if she doesn't make it?" Adam asked the question aloud that wouldn't leave him alone.

"She'll make it."

"That's very optimistic. How do you know?"

"I just know."

"Hm," he mumbled. "Wait, did you talk to... you know?"

He suddenly looked more sanguine and she hated to crush his hopes. Softy, she said, "No. I haven't seen Him in a long time."

"And why is that? Where is He when we need Him?"

"I'm sure He's right here somewhere, watching over us."

"Well, it's about time He did more than just watch." With a frustrated edge to his voice, he exclaimed, "Do you hear me, God? It's not her time yet. It's not her time."

He felt red hot tears shooting into his eyes. "Dammit!" He abruptly got up from the chair and stood at the foot of the bed, gripping the metal bars in front of him.

Joan remained standing behind the chair for a few seconds. It was so hard to see him suffering like this. She thought he had been through enough heartache for a lifetime, and now this. Again.

She slowly approached him. "I know it's not fair. It never is."

"I just hate standing here, totally helpless. There isn't anything I can do to help her."

"Yes, there is."

He turned to face her, confusion mingling with sadness in his soft, brown eyes.

She touched his arm. "You can be here, watch over her, talk to her. You can help Jamie and Susan with the kids. Help out where you're needed."

He just nodded and she pulled him into an embrace. They stood leaning their bodies against each other for a long moment. Just before they separated, Joan whispered in his ear, "Be strong. For her. You think you can do that?"

He looked into his wife's eyes. "Yes, I think I can do that."

She smiled a small smile. "Good."

Adam walked back over to Louisa's side, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "We'll see you tomorrow, Aunt Lou," he said in a low voice. "Get better."

Joan held out her hand and Adam took it. Together they walked out of the ICU room and down the hallway. An old lady with blond hair and gold rimmed glasses watched them leave, a hopeful, almost mischievous smile playing on her lips.


	16. P is for Pensive

**P is for Pensive**

**--------------------------------------------**

_**Characters:** Adam and Joan Girardi**  
Rating:** PG-13**  
Genre:** Het**  
Summary:** A week after Carl Rove's death, Adam and Joan spend the night at his place.**  
Character Age:** 22**  
Joaniverse:** Butterflies, takes place the same night as the last scene of chapter "These Things"_

**--------------------------------------------**

It was dark outside, and a feeling of unfamiliarity tingled at the back of her mind as Joan slowly awoke. She gazed over to her left, and realized that the crumpled bedclothes she was lying in weren't her own, neither was the bed they belonged to. She suddenly remembered last night, and the act that had bonded her and Adam in a way they had not bonded before.

The side of the bed where he had lain was empty, the sheets cold. The digital display of the alarm clock on the nightstand showed 03:10. She fumbled for the briefs and top she'd worn last night and went to look for him.

She found him in the kitchen, sitting on one of the wooden chairs, staring into nothingness with only the dim light above the stove illuminating the room.

She stopped in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe. "Adam?"

He looked at her, his gaze lingering on her face for what felt like half an eternity.

"Jane, what are we doing?"

She didn't know what she had expected to hear from him, but it wasn't this. What was he asking? "Are you having regrets? About last night?"

He got up and his hand went into his hair to linger there for a few, desperate seconds. "I... I don't know. No," he stammered. "It's just—"

A few silent seconds passed. "It's what?"

His body sagged a little. "It's like... it's like things were finally falling into place. You know, like finally I could stop looking over my shoulder to wait for the next blow. Dad seemed happier than he's been in years, the new treatment really helped a lot with his back pain and I thought maybe it would all be okay, maybe I could stop worrying. And then—"

He stopped, sucked in a breath, and Joan knew he was still trying to make sense of it all.

"And then," he tried again, "then last week happened, and suddenly I'm here with you, and I—"

She took a few steps closer to reach out for him, but he met her gaze and the look in his eyes stopped her. Was he saying this hadn't been a good idea? Had she pushed him in a direction he didn't want to go? He had seemed so confident, so enamored last night.

"Adam, if you need more time..." she whispered.

"No. No, I just... I'm a mess, Jane."

She gave him the smallest of sad smiles. "You know this might sound strange, but I'm glad you are."

He looked at her, surprise in his dark eyes.

"Do you remember how I was when Judith died?"

"Yeah, you were so stoic and determined. You handled it a lot better than any of us did."

"Yeah, I really put on a good show, didn't I? The truth is, I cried like a baby most nights. I missed her so much. I know Kevin and Luke were hovering outside my door a lot those nights. They never came in, but I really wished they would. Maybe I wished even more that you would be there, would hold me, whisper to me that things would turn out okay, even if I wouldn't have believed it then."

He swallowed, and she saw his reaction. "No, Adam, don't feel guilty. We just weren't... we were so young, things were so different then. Right now, I just want you to know that I don't care if you're a mess or confused or just... I'm here for you, I'm here if you need me. It doesn't have to be physical or permanent or..." She trailed off.

He looked at her for a long moment, almost too long. "I... don't know what to say to that."

She moved closer and stood next to him. "Then don't say anything."

They stood there, quiet, for a long time. When Adam broke the silence, his voice was low and tinged with sadness. "Jane, I... I've tried so hard, but I can't remember."

She turned her head and looked at him.

"I can't remember the last thing I said to him. I've gone over and over it in my mind, and it's like that morning's been erased from my mental hard drive."

She knew immediately that he was talking about his father.

He went on. "You know, it was probably something really stupid, like a conversation about breakfast sandwiches. Or some story he read in the paper, or the shopping list for the next day. I just wish... I just wish it would have been something meaningful. There are so many things I still wanted to say to him, so many things I wanted him to tell me about Mom."

"They always say that dying very suddenly and unexpectedly is a blessing. What people sometimes forget is that that's so much harder on the people that are left behind. And now you're here, trying to deal with it all, but have you ever considered his point of view?" she asked softly.

He looked at her, confused.

"From what you've told me, he never saw it coming. Have you ever thought about how it would have been if he'd regained consciousness? If he realized what was happening, if he would have seen you worried and scared at his side in his last moments?" She drew in a breath. "Maybe that would have been worse for him."

She realized that it needed a minute to sink in. He looked at her questioningly. "Am I being too selfish when I keep wishing I could have had a chance to say goodbye?"

"No," she said in a low voice. "No, that's not selfish, that's human. You did what you could to support your father. You took care of him, you made sure he was as happy as you could make him. You went through so much together, and I know he loved you and he was grateful for everything you did for him. And even if you couldn't tell him in those last moments that you loved him and didn't want to lose him, he knew all that."

Tears were starting to prickle behind Adam's eyelids, and when he blinked, they dislodged from his eyelashes.

Joan saw it but didn't move. "Sometimes doing something meaningful is worth more than telling someone the most meaningful words you can think of."

He hastily wiped away the tears on his cheeks with his hand, but she reached out and gently took that hand away from his face. "It's okay. It's only been a week and you haven't even had time to rest ever since that night. It's okay to be sad."

His voice sounded almost angry. "I don't wanna be sad anymore. I don't wanna cry anymore." New tears ran down his face as the words tumbled from his mouth.

She moved to stand in front of him and gently drew him into an embrace. He didn't resist and buried his head in the crook of her neck. She whispered in his ear, "Adam, it's okay to grieve. It's okay to miss him. It's okay to have regrets. And it's okay to keep hoping it was just a bad nightmare you're going to wake up from."

She could feel him crying silently and she softly stroked his back. "I know it doesn't sound like much right now, but tomorrow you'll find the strength to get up again and get through another day. And another, and another. And eventually, it'll feel again like you can take it all on without it being a constant struggle."

They stood like that for a few minutes, until he calmed down. When he lifted his head again to wipe away the tears, she smoothed out a few strands of his hair that stood up from the fitful sleep he had roused from earlier.

Their eyes met and in a composed voice he said, "You asked me if I was having regrets. About tonight."

She nodded slowly.

"I don't." He waited a long moment. "Do you?"

"No. None."

It was like something clicked and an invisible force drew them closer. Their lips met, caressing each other softly and hesitantly at first. Joan could taste the salt from his tears on them and pressed hers onto his more fervently. He responded just as eagerly.

They separated breathlessly. Her face suddenly became serious and she took a step back. "I don't know if this is such a good idea. Maybe we need to let this sink in for a day. Maybe I should go home."

He reached for her hand. "Please don't go," he whispered.

"Are you sure?"

He smiled. "Yes, I'm sure."


	17. Q is for Quixotic

**Q is for Quixotic**

**--------------------------------------------**

_**Characters:** Adam Rove and Grace Polk**  
Rating:** G**  
Genre:** Gen**  
Summary:** Grace visits Adam in the shed and discovers one of his latest pieces**  
Character Age:** 16**  
Joaniverse:** TV show, missing scene for episode "Bringeth It On"_

**--------------------------------------------**

It was eerily quiet when Grace approached the shed. Normally there was always some kind of noise when Adam worked on his art. He would be welding or hammering or sawing or... something.

She carefully opened the door. Adam's back was turned to her and he jumped when she harrumphed. He awkwardly stood in front of something obscured from her view with a caught-in-the-act expression on his face.

"Grace," he said, as if it wasn't normal that she'd be here without prior notification.

She frowned. "Rove, what are you hiding?"

"I, uh... nothing." He awkwardly swayed a little to the right but didn't move.

She wouldn't let herself be fooled and without invitation stepped closer. At first she couldn't make sense of what she was seeing, but then it dawned on her. "Paper mâché? And, uh," she pointed at a huge roundish form standing on the ground behind him, "What _is_ this?"

"It's, uh, it's this thing I did." Quietly, he added, "For Jane."

She swallowed. "You wanna impress her, right? With _this_? It's ugly as hell."

No one but Grace could be so blunt and get away with it.

"You think so?"

She ignored his question. "Besides, how were you gonna give it to her? Were you gonna rent a truck and dump it in her front yard?"

Adam scratched his head. He hadn't considered that yet. "I don't know."

She took a step back and surveyed the artwork again. Even though she wanted to find some kind of hidden beauty or meaning in it, she came up empty.

"Seriously, Rove, I think you can do much better than that. I mean, Girardi's a little weird sometimes, but even _she_ would be appalled at this... monstrosity."

When she saw his crestfallen look, she couldn't help but feel pity for him and added, "Look, she's got this cheerleader tryout thing, right? And let me just add that I'm not encouraging such brain-dead über-conformity, but, you know... Maybe she could use some support."

Adam looked at her, confused, his brow furrowed. After a few seconds' silence, he asked, "Like what?"

Grace shrugged. "I don't know. Make her something she can actually take with her. You know, like your," she pointed at the shelves to her right that were filled with all kinds of bits and pieces, "twisted metal sculpture things or something."

He fell quiet. When she looked at him, he had already zoned out. She climbed onto the old bar stool in the corner and waited for him to join the real world again. When he didn't, she decided to help him along.

"Hey, wanna go to the sewers?"

Not entirely surprising, Adam didn't react.

Grace raised her voice. "Hello? Rove! Focus!"

He finally met her gaze. "Huh?"

"The sewers," she repeated.

"What about the sewers?"

She sighed. "Wanna go?"

"I, uh... Well, I just had this idea."

She sighed again. He had hopelessly fallen. For Girardi. Grace wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing.

"Okay, Rove, you do your thing. I'm gonna go rob a drugstore and paint my toenails pink. See ya."

He just nodded and mumbled, "Yeah, see ya."

She shook her head incredulously as she left the shed. This was worse than she thought.


	18. R is for Relaxed

**R is for Relaxed**

**--------------------------------------------**

_**Characters:** Adam Rove and Joan Girardi-Rove**  
Rating:** PG-13**  
Genre:** Het**  
Summary:** Adam wants to write Grace a postcard from the beach (see also X is for Xenophilic)**  
Character Age:** mid to late 20's**  
Joaniverse:** Butterflies_

**--------------------------------------------**

"Hi Grace, sunny greetings from France. The weather is great and—" Joan read the half-finished postcard aloud that she had just snatched from Adam's hand. "Are you serious?"

"What?" he looked at her questioningly, an annoyed edge to his tone.

"Booooring. Here, let me liven this up a little." She grabbed the pen from Adam's other hand and settled on her belly on the beach towel, adjusting the pole of their rainbow colored sunshade so that the sun wasn't shining directly on her head.

She drew an arrow that pointed to the few words that Adam had already written and continued, 'Grace, seriously, you don't wanna hear the usual vacation bla-bla, do you? Though Adam has a point. The weather is nice. And we're having way more fun than we're allowed to. Though we haven't actually—'

Adam was getting curious and sat down cross-legged next to her, looking over her shoulder as she wrote. Joan continued, '—had sex on the beach yet.'

"Jane!"

She smirked at him. "What? Don't you wanna?"

"Sure I do, but I don't see why Grace has to know about it. Or anyone else who happens to read the postcard."

"Come on, let Grace have some fun."

"Knowing Grace, she'll marker it with a highlighter and put it on her fridge with the writing facing outward."

"We don't have to sign it, do we?" Joan grinned.

He pointed to the postcard. "You mentioned my name."

"Hm, true." She took the pen and crossed out the word 'sex' and wrote 'beeeeep' below.

Adam groaned mockingly. "Okay, _that_ helps."

"Oh, don't be such a sissy!" She carried on writing. 'It's a good thing I'm running out of space because otherwise Adam would spank me for telling you more of our naughty secrets. You're probably yelling "TMI!!" by now anyway. Love and hugs from—"

She handed the card and the pen to Adam. "Here, sign."

He folded his arms across his chest, shaking his head. "I'm not signing that."

"Oh yes, you are!"

"Or what?"

"Or.... no sex on the beach."

He laughed. "Haha, as if you're gonna follow through with that."

"Remember when I was getting on the pill? A week without sex? I can totally do it." She tried to keep her expression stoic, and almost failed.

He had an amused smile on his face. "I know you're not serious, but gimme the card. I'll sign it anyway."

"There's my man." She held out the card and pen and he squeezed a very artistic 'Adam' into the tiny blank space that was left on the card.

"Very nice," Joan observed. She put her own signature next to Adam's and put the card and pen away. Sitting up, she started to plant soft kisses in the nape of Adam's neck. "So, about the beep on the beach..."

"Here? Now?"

She looked around, eyeing the people around them. "Okay, maybe not here and not now. But I know a hotel room we'll return to later. Rain check?"

"Rain check," he nodded.


	19. S is for Surprised

**S is for Surprised**

**--------------------------------------------**

_**Characters:** Adam Rove and Grace Polk**  
Rating:** PG**  
Genre:** Gen**  
Summary:** Grace picks Adam up at the airport when he flies from Rhode Island to Arcadia for a brief visit**  
Character Age:** approximately 20**  
Joaniverse:** Butterflies_

**--------------------------------------------**

"Whoa! Green hair?!" Grace asked incredulously.

Adam nodded. "Yeah, I, uh... You like it?"

"How? Why?" was all she could utter.

"It's was... kind of a spontaneous thing. My flight was delayed three hours and I met this woman from Chicago, and we talked, and before I knew it she told me I could use a change and dragged me to the airport hairdresser."

"You meet a random woman at the airport who tells you to dye your hair green, and—BING!—you dye your hair green?"

Adam cleared his throat, a little embarrassed. "Okay, when you say it like that, it sounds kinda weird."

"Kinda weird? Rove, this," she pointed at his head, "is impulsive. You don't do impulsive."

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh no?"

"No."

"Yeah, okay, maybe I don't do impulsive. But at that moment it seemed like a cool idea. So..." he looked a little nervous, "does it look, like, really horrible or something?"

Grace cracked a smile. "Actually, it's kinda cute. Maybe you could do a little Mohawk thing. Get an eyebrow piercing."

"Okay, I'm not _that_ impulsive."

"Does it wash out?"

"I don't know. Eventually, I guess. Why?"

"I think your dad will get another heart attack when he sees you like this."

He rubbed his eyebrow. "Maybe I should dig out one of my old beanies again."


	20. T is for Touched

**T is for Touched**

**--------------------------------------------**

_**Characters:** Adam Rove and Grace Polk**  
Rating:** PG**  
Genre: **A hint of slash, maybe, but nothing graphic**  
Summary:** Grace and Adam meet over coffee to talk while he visits Arcadia**  
Character Age:** approximately 20**  
Joaniverse:** Butterflies, see also "S is for Surprised"_

**--------------------------------------------**

"Hey, Rove, listen. I gotta tell you something."

A confession? From Grace? Adam focused his full attention her.

"I'm listening."

"And I swear, if you tell anyone, you'll be dead meat."

He lifted his arms defensively. "I promise not to tell anyone."

She breathed in, then waited a few seconds before saying, "I've got a girlfriend."

When Grace didn't say anything else, he scrunched his eyebrows together, confused. "Oh-kay. Is that so unusual? Joan is your girlfriend."

She gave him a look. "No, I mean _girl_friend. You know, like... partner girlfriend."

The penny finally dropped. "Oh," was all he could say in his momentary astonishment.

Her glance on him was questioning, almost exasperated. "_Oh?_ That's all you're gonna say?"

"No, I mean... Geez, what do you want me to say?"

"I don't know. You hate it, you think it's weird, you think it's cool? Anything."

"Are you happy? I mean, with her?"

"Yeah."

"Then that's all that matters."

"I'm touched," she said sarcastically. "That is such a cliché answer, Rove. You really hate it, don't you?"

"So what if it's cliché, it's true. And, no, I don't hate it. Actually, I think it's kinda cool. Come on, cut me some slack, you just dropped a pretty big bomb." His mouth curved into a smile. "Friedman's gonna have the time of his life when he hears it."

She glared at him. "Don't you dare—"

"Relax, he's not gonna hear it from me. I haven't even spoken to him in I don't know how long. Have you told your parents?"

"Are you kidding? The Rabbi's gonna kill me."

"No, he won't. He's your father, he loves you. No matter what."

"Dude, you are full of clichés today. Have you shown your father your green hair yet?"

Adam smiled. "Touché."


	21. U is for Uncomfortable

**U is for Uncomfortable**

**--------------------------------------------**

_**Characters:** Adam Rove and Helen Girardi**  
Rating:** PG**  
Genre:** Gen**  
Summary:** Adam and Helen in Art class for the first time after his break-up with Joan**  
Character Age:** 17 and, uh, 45-ish?**  
Joaniverse:** TV show**  
Author's Note:** Thanks go out to Laura for the pointer_

**--------------------------------------------**

Helen Girardi pressed her palms together at chest level in front of her, then opened her arms again. "That's your homework assignment, please bring back your drawings next week for me to assess."

She looked around at her students, meeting mostly eager eyes. One student she tried very hard not to look at—Adam. She had stolen secret glances at him during the lesson when he wasn't looking. Which hadn't been difficult, because he'd tried to avoid looking at her just as much as she was doing right now.

He'd kept his head bowed and had listlessly sketched an outline on the white paper she had handed out. His usual fervor when it came to creating art was absent, and Helen knew exactly why.

This was hard. She didn't know if she could do it. As a teacher, she had to remain objective, had to judge her students' work without personal preference or bias, had to treat them all the same. But how could she when this boy had torn her daughter's heart in two? When he had done the unimaginable—cheated on her daughter with another girl? It still sent bile rising up her throat, even thinking about it.

The bell rang and all the students swarmed into the hallway. All except one. Adam lingered in his chair, then hesitantly took his messenger bag and—

She looked up and a little jolt shot through her when she realized he was walking toward her. What should she say to him?

"Mrs. Girardi?" he asked carefully, barely audible.

It wasn't lost on her that he wasn't calling her his usual 'Mrs. G.'.

She cleared her throat. "Yes, Adam?" Somehow it sounded an octave higher than her usual voice.

"I, uhm... I..." He swallowed. "I wanted to apologize."

"Adam, I don't know if this is a good time..."

"I know. I know you don't like me much right now, ('Understatement,' Helen thought), and I know you probably don't wanna talk to me, but please," his eyes met hers, and she saw the desperate plea in them, "just hear me out."

She drew in a breath, then nodded wordlessly despite her anger and resentment.

"I know it doesn't mean much, but I never meant for this to happen. I realize now that I've made a colossal mistake, and I know I can't take it back, but I wish... I really wish I could. I'm so, _so_ sorry. I've done a lot of thinking, and... if there's any way I can make it up to you, I will."

She frowned as he added, "And if I can't, then at least I hope one day it'll be okay again."

She looked into his eyes, and he looked right back at her. He was strangely stoic and confident. Had he grown a backbone?

She was trying to find the right thing to say. Deep down, she didn't want to acquiesce. "I wish I could tell you what you want to hear, Adam. I wish there was a way I did not have to choose sides, but Joan is my daughter, and I can't... I can't think of a way for you to make it up to any of us right now, except maybe leave Joan alone."

He nodded, his eyes clouding over with new sadness and regret. "I understand, Mrs. Girardi. I'll..." and this he had dreaded to say the whole time, "I'll quit Art class, if that'll make it easier."

'No,' she thought immediately, but didn't say it out loud. Another small voice inside her head piped up and breathed a sigh of relief. It would certainly be easier if she didn't have to look at him, interact with him almost every day.

Adam had already turned to go, and she knew she couldn't just leave the conversation hanging like this. "Adam?"

He turned back around.

"You're not quitting Art class if I can help it. Life's not supposed to be easy."


	22. V is for Vexed

**V is for Vexed**

**--------------------------------------------**

_**Characters:** Adam Rove and Joan Girardi (could be Rove)**  
Rating:** PG**  
Genre:** Het**  
Summary:** Adam asks Joan to iron a shirt for him**  
Character Age:** late 20's or early 30's**  
Joaniverse:** Butterflies_

**--------------------------------------------**

"Jane? Honey?"

"Yeah," she answered from the guest room.

Adam appeared in the doorway, holding an armful of dress shirts. "Can you iron these for me?"

"Now?"

He admitted a little sheepishly, "Yeah, I kinda need at least one for tomorrow."

"Great," she said. "Why don't you do it yourself?"

"I have badminton tonight, remember? And I have this work thing to finish before I go."

"Then why didn't you do it yesterday? It's always me who has to do the ironing. I don't exactly like it either, you know?"

"I'll do the next load, I promise," he offered.

"Yeah, that's what you always say. When is the last time you ironed anything, much less any of _my_ stuff?"

"But you're so much better and faster with it. It takes twice as long when I do it."

She gave him an irritated look. "Then at least you could help with folding up the laundry that doesn't have to be ironed. Or, I don't know, iron a little more often, so that you can practice your skills."

"Okay, fine," he said, getting angry. "I'll do it myself." He dropped the armful of shirts onto the armchair in the corner. "I'll call Brody and cancel badminton."

"For one unironed shirt? You're being ridiculous."

"Yeah, whatever," he said, leaving the room.

She followed him downstairs and saw him grabbing the phone from the charging station. "You're not _really_ gonna cancel badminton, are you?" she said, now getting annoyed.

He started dialing a number and she went up to him, taking the phone from his hands. "Adam. Please. Go and play badminton. I'll iron your shirts."

The fire slowly vanished from his eyes. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. It's fine." In a softer voice she said, "Just promise that you'll help with the laundry next time."

"Okay. I promise," he said.

She gave him a quick, placatory kiss on the lips. "Now go. Knock Brody dead."

He smiled. "I wish. I think he's been secretly practicing."


	23. W is for Worried

**W is for Worried**

**--------------------------------------------**

_**Characters:** Adam Rove, Grace Polk, Karen D'Alessandro__**  
Rating:** PG**  
Genre:** Slash (the harmless kind)  
**Summary:** Grace and Karen unexpectedly run into Adam__**  
Character Age:** 20**  
Joaniverse:** Butterflies_

**--------------------------------------------**

"Whoa, hold on!"

Grace grabbed Karen by the back of her jacket and jerked her to a halt.

Karen shot around. "What?"

Grace ushered Karen behind one of the concrete pillar of the mall. She was acting very strangely.

"Grace, what the hell is going on?"

"Shh," Grace shushed her. "Stay here."

Karen frowned. Who was Grace hiding her from? She turned around, getting impatient. "Who did you see? Your father?"

"No," Grace whispered. "Adam."

"Adam?" She let out an amused chuckle. "Really? You're hiding me from Adam?"

Grace shot her a look. "Yeah. What?"

"I thought you told him about me."

"I did," Grace hissed.

"You said he was cool with it."

"He is."

"So?" Karen opened her eyes wide and looked at her girlfriend questioningly. "Why are you worried he'll see you with me?"

"Because..." Grace started, but stopped because suddenly she didn't know either. "It was... Call it a gut reaction."

"More like a knee-jerk reaction," Karen muttered. She peeked round the pillar. "He's the guy in the green t-shirt coming toward us, right?"

"Yeah."

Karen boldly stepped out from behind the pylon and started walking in Adam's direction. From behind, Grace hissed, "What are you doing?!"

Karen kept walking, saying over her shoulder, "Introducing myself."

"No, wait!"

But it was already too late. Grace couldn't bring herself to step out from her hideout and watched apprehensively.

"Adam Rove?" Karen approached him unabashedly.

His head shot up and Karen almost felt sorry for jerking him from his reverie. The look on his face was a mixture between shock, surprise and curiosity. "Uh, yeah. Do I know you?"

"Karen D'Alessandro," she held out her hand.

Adam just looked at it but didn't shake it.

"Grace's friend," she elaborated.

"Oh." Recognition suddenly flooded Adam's face. He shook her hand carefully. "Nice to meet you."

Karen almost had to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. And where was Grace? She couldn't believe she would really be this paranoid. "So, you doing some shopping?"

He lifted the Macy's plastic bag in his right hand slightly. "Yeah, my dad needed some stuff."

Karen wondered why his father couldn't buy it himself, but she decided to let it go. The situation was awkward enough as it was. Where the hell was Grace?? Karen pointed to her left. "Grace and I are out here, clothes shopping. She's... here somewhere. I think she went to look for something at Body & Bath."

"Oh," Adam said again. "Right."

Karen silently pleaded, 'Grace, come and save me!'

Grace swore under her breath. Body & Bath? Karen was gonna get some heat for that later. She wondered how she could make it look like she was just casually strolling by. She hoped it wasn't too late now to get out of this gracefully.

She stepped out from behind the pillar, trying to look like she was in a hurry. The expression on her face was the best she could do in terms of feigning surprise when she approached Karen and Adam. "Adam!" she said, and prayed her astonishment didn't sound as fake to him as it did to her.

"Grace, hey." She didn't just imagine the relief on his face, did she?

Her gaze went from Karen to Adam. "You've met Karen, I see."

"Yeah," he just said.

Karen smiled. The poor guy, she could almost feel his confusion tangible in the air.

"What are you doing here?" Grace asked him. "Aren't you supposed to be in Providence?"

Adam's face fell a little. "My dad had a mild heart attack, I came down here as soon as I heard."

"Jeez. I'm sorry, is he okay?"

"Yeah, they put him on a bunch of treatments. He's doing a lot better."

Grace just nodded. She suddenly noticed the dark shadows under his eyes and wondered why Adam hadn't called her. "Hey, do you have a few minutes? Why don't we grab a coffee?"

She looked at Karen, who almost imperceptibly nodded once. Karen's emotional radar was way more sensitive and fine-tuned than Grace's.

He looked at his watch. "Yeah, uh... Sure."

"Okay, cool. There's a Starbucks downstairs."

Karen suddenly felt like the odd one out and cursed her impulsiveness. It had seemed like such a cute idea before. "Hey, uhm, I wanted to go look for some stuff at Sears. Grace, you hate that place, right? Why don't I meet you at Starbucks later?"

Grace was torn. She didn't want to give Karen the impression that she wasn't welcome. "We can go to Sears together later, I don't mind."

Karen realized what she was doing. She smirked at Grace. "Don't take this the wrong way, but it'll be more fun without you waiting impatiently in a chair by the dressing rooms while I try on three million pairs of jeans." She looked at Adam. "You know, sometimes it really sucks to have long legs."

She couldn't help but notice how Adam's eyes went to her legs and smiled to herself. Men! So predictable.

"I'll see you two downstairs in a bit, okay?" she said cheerfully.

"Okay," Grace agreed. To Adam she said, "Come on, let's grab one of those overpriced caffeinated beverages while Karen stimulates the economy."

He just nodded and followed Grace's lead. They took the escalator in silence. It was strangely comforting to see that Grace had changed, but also hadn't.

As they stood at the counter, waiting to collect their drinks, he wondered why he hadn't called her to tell her about his father. Was it the fact that Layla was going to arrive in Arcadia tomorrow? Maybe it would only be fair to tell Grace about Layla, now that he'd met Grace's girl.

"One tall java-chip frappuccino without cream and one grande caramel latte," the emo-hair guy in the green apron called with their take-out cups in hand. They took their beverages from him and found a seat.

"You know, Grace," he started. "There's someone you should know about..."


	24. X is for Xenophilic

**X is for Xenophilic**

**--------------------------------------------**

_**Characters:** Adam Rove and Joan Girardi-Rove**  
Rating:** PG-13**  
Genre:** Het**  
Summary:** Aunt Louisa has a generous gift to give away**  
Character Age:** mid to late 20's**  
Joaniverse:** Butterflies_

**--------------------------------------------**

"No way, look at what Aunt Lou sent us!"

Adam came into the living room where Joan sat on the couch, indulging in one of the books that she never had the time for anymore. He held out two slips of paper to her.

She took them and her eyes grew wide when she realized that what she was holding was a pair of plane tickets. "Whoa. Paris? No way!"

He beamed at her, reading from the letter he received from Aunt Louisa. "Your uncle has recently closed a very lucrative deal and we know how much you would love to see Europe. How would you like us sponsoring a trip to France for you?"

Joan sat up a little straighter. She looked at the tickets again. "Holy crap, these are Business Class. Are they serious? They're giving us a luxury trip to Paris as a present, just like that? Adam, can we accept this?"

He shrugged. "Why not? You've seen their house. They have money. Wait until you hear this. It's not just a trip to Paris. She's also enclosed train tickets and hotel confirmations. It's a fully booked two week trip."

"Wait a minute, two weeks pre-booked? When? Can we take that much time off work?"

He grinned at her sheepishly and read more from the letter. "Adam, please don't hold it against me, I've taken the liberty to call both your employers and arrange for them to free you of your duties in the two weeks in question. (Don't worry, they both embraced the idea very enthusiastically and thought it was a wonderful surprise for you.) From experience I can tell you that July is the best time to see the lavender in bloom in Provence. It's absolutely beautiful, I think you will both love it."

Joan was stunned. "I don't know what to say." She looked at the plane tickets again, then got up and gave Adam a kiss full on the lips. "Looks like we'll be going to France in July."

His eyes sparkled with pleasure. "Yeah. Wow. I still can't believe it. Let me go call Aunt Lou."

"Give her a big, mushy thank you from me, will you?"

Adam was already on the way to the kitchen where he had left the cordless phone. Joan called after him, "And tell her she's the awesomemest aunt on the whole planet. And that I will forever love her until the day I die."

As Adam chuckled and vanished into the kitchen, Joan ran upstairs and woke the laptop from hibernation. She logged on to her Facebook and changed her status message to 'Joan can't wait to go to France in the summer!'

Then she clicked on the 'New Note' icon and started typing. She wanted everyone to know that she had the best aunt-in-law in the world.


	25. Y is for Yielding

**Y is for Yielding**

**--------------------------------------------**

_**Characters:** Adam Rove and Grace Polk**  
Rating:** PG**  
Genre:** Gen**  
Summary:** Adam and Grace take a drive**  
Character Age:** roughly 14 1/2**  
Joaniverse:** pre-TV show**  
Author's Note:** Thanks go out to Laura for helping me get inspired for this prompt_

**--------------------------------------------**

"Dude, stop!!" Grace yelled.

Adam hit the brake pedal, but the car didn't stop until a few feet into the crossing. An approaching car swerved to the right to avoid hitting their fender.

He had never been the tallest person, and he didn't want to adjust the seat for fear his father might notice that he'd taken the truck without permission—or a driving license.

"Didn't you see the Yield sign?" Grace chided him.

"What Yield sign?"

Grace shook her head. "You shouldn't be driving. You're 14! There's a good reason why it's not legal to drive if you're under 16."

Adam looked left and right and released the clutch when the road was clear. The truck started moving again.

"You weren't quite so squeamish when we set out to do this."

"Well, I didn't know you couldn't drive when we set out to do this!"

He pulled over on the hard shoulder. Grace looked at him. "What are you doing?"

"If you think you can do it better, why don't you drive?"

Her voice was suddenly exasperated. "Did I say I can do it better?"

"No, but—"

"But what? We have somewhere to be. Drive."

"I don't wanna drive if you think I'm a bad driver."

"Look, here's the thing. I can't drive a stick shift. So I'm stuck here with you. It's either you or walking. Now shut up and drive."

"Okay," he relented. Under his breath he muttered, "I can drive just fine."

The engine made a loud and unhealthy creaking sound as he tried to release the gear without pushing down on the clutch.


	26. Z is for Zealous

**Z is for Zealous**

**--------------------------------------------**

_**Characters:** Adam Rove and Joan Girardi-Rove**  
Rating:** PG-13**  
Genre:** Het**  
Summary:** Adam buys an SLR camera for their big trip to France**  
Character Age:** mid to late 20's**  
Joaniverse:** Butterflies, see also "X is for Xenophilic"_

**--------------------------------------------**

_Click_.

The slightly metallic sound of the shutter opening and closing had a rich quality to it that sounded so much more sophisticated than the electronic beep of their old compact camera.

_Click_. Adam took another picture, and this time the flash went off too.

"Stop, Adam, I'm gonna go blind if I have to look into that flash one more time," Joan complained.

"Just one more," he pleaded. "Smile, I want a picture of my beautiful, happy wife."

She bared her teeth in something akin to a feral, feline threat.

Adam snapped a picture of it and an amused chuckle escaped his lips when he looked at the result on the camera's display. "Priceless!"

"Lemme see."

He hid the camera behind his back. "Nuh-uh. She who does not want to pose properly, will not get to see the end result."

She stuck her tongue out at him, but Adam had already moved on to take pictures of inanimate objects, starting with the potted plants on the window sill.

"You really enjoy playing with that thing, don't you? Seriously, you're like an overzealous kid who just got a new Wii for Christmas."

"So?" he asked. "You get excited when you buy new shoes. I get excited when I buy a shiny new camera. But, hey, wait!" His eyes widened in a mocking kind of surprised shock. "You haven't even bought new shoes for France yet, have you? Maybe that's why you're begrudging my zeal. Could that be it, hmm?" He wiggled his eyebrows playfully.

She laughed out loud. "You know what, I think you actually have a point. There's going to be beach, right? My flip flops gave out on me last summer, remember? I hope you're not gonna tell me it's not in the budget because you just blew it all on your new tech toy."

"Well, let me see... We might have to live a little cheaper the next few months. The camera and the lenses were $2500, the memory cards a $100, the extra battery another $100, the, uh, UV filters and the bag—"

Joan suddenly became serious. "Wait a minute, it sounds like you bought a whole photo studio. How much exactly did you spend?"

"Relax, Jane, I was kidding. The camera was a real bargain, plus we just scored a big deal at the Studio, so that was kinda like an unexpected bonus payment. We're good. Plenty left for you to buy a pair of flip flops. Or ten."

She relaxed visibly. "Please don't do that to me. You kinda scared me there for a second. I was seeing us living on canned soup and Ramen for the next two months."

He smiled at her sweetly. "Would I be that irresponsible?"

"You're a guy." She gave him a look. "In case you don't know, that means yes."


End file.
